It Went Smooth
by Twirl
Summary: It went smooth. It never goes smooth. Mal wonders why it did late at night after a seemingly flawless mission. One shot.


Something was up.

Captain Malcom Reynolds didn't know what, but something was definitly wrong with the 'verse tonight.

Maybe the amazing crazy girl's even crazier ranting had come true. Maybe something blew up. Maybe he was dead and didn't know it. Maybe this was what it felt like to be River. Maybe giant bunnies had come to enslave the human race.

At that last thought, Mal shut his eyes tightly.

Ah, the horrors of late nights and Kaylee's magic brew. Mal had to admit that the alcohol was surprisingly good, though. 

What was wrong with him? Why was he sitting awake at the dinning table while his crew slept? Wait... Now he remembered

Everything went according to plan.

And when the former Sergant said everything, he meant everything.

They'd picked up the cargo six hours ago. A simple smuggling run between two nearby planets. No problem, right? Wrong. With Mal's luck, he'd get shot a, someone on his crew would get critically injured and they'd run into the Alliance or Reavers. Or both, if the 'verse was feeling particularly loathsome at the moment.

But nothing had happened. The only injury, if you could call it that, was Jayne dropping a crate on his foot. No knives, guns or punches. Nope. Just Jayne being... Jayne.

AS Wash took them off world, nothing went wrong. Not even the normal crashing and dying. Nothing jumped out at them to attack. Nothing shot at them. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Now, all this "nothing" had put Captain "Tight-pants" on suspicion mode. And when the only thing noteable that happened in the Black was amazing crazy girl beating Simon with a pillow, Mal's suspicion grew.

As Wash landed, Mal had hung on the piolt's shoulder, staring suspiciously at the clouds, predicting death jumping out from every cloud. Finally, Wash had gotten Zoe to kick his Captain out of the bridge. Mal's predictions of death were too distracting apparently.

Mal'd fumed, knowing something'd go wrong. He remembered his words perfectly. He'd told them to his entire crew.

"Now, not a thing's gone wrong as of late, and that's a mite fisy. Keep yer guns handy. Troubles coming. Might as well greet it with a shee-niou of bullets."

But, despite his convictions, the buyers showed on time, took the cargo, paid him and left. Mal was still at a loss for exactly what happened. He'd gotten paid without having to shoot anyone.

Mal'd been sitting here since Wash set a course for Persephone.

That was three hours ago.

Why'd it go smooth? Nothing ever went smooth. Ever. It was all most the law of the universe. "Nothing ever goes smooth for Malcom Reynolds." That's it.

Mal brought the cup to his lips, finishing off Kaylee's brew. Yeah, the Captain was drinking. 'Cause he had an excuse. Everything went _right._

That conversation he'd had with Simon Tam all that time ago when he first brought the Doc on board to be his Doc floated back to him now.

"We're still flyin'."

Simon had said that wasn't much. But it was. In this crap-heel 'verse, it meant everything.If he was still flyin', that meant everything would turn out fine. No matter what. No matter how far out the Alliance reached, they could go farther. As far as Wash could fly them.

But even though they were in the air still, something still didn't feel right. No one was bleeding, dying, no one was chasing them. Well, no one in the close vicinity. And, to top of his feeling of unease, he'd gotten paid.

Don't get him wrong. Mal didn't want his crew hurt and he did want money. And he did want things to go smooth.

But they just didn't. Ever. Mal was so used to things going wrong, he guessed it was hard to accept the fact that something went right for once. And if things did go right, he'd end up right were he was. Sitting alone in the dark dining room wondering why things hadn't gone wrong this time.

Mal yawned, streching slightly in the chair. Maybe he should let it go. Maybe he should try not to think about it, so he didn't end up like River. Accept the fact that things had gone, for once, ri--

The proximity alarm cut into Mal's thoughts.

The Captain ran to the bridge, like he'd temporarily gained super-speed.

"--you are ordered to release control of your helm and prepare to be boarded."

Mal stared at the Alliance cruiser for what felt like an eternity, then a smile made it's way slowly on his face.

Something had gone wrong! His mind screamed gleefuly. Everything makes sense again!

Mal turned, passing a groggy Wash on his way into the hall.

Finally, Mal could do his Captain-y duties with a sound mind.

It didn't go smooth.

* * *

**Once again, it's not mine. Mal's not, he's Joss's.**  



End file.
